Like a Hero
by freyjaschariot
Summary: Olicity drabbles, short fic, and one shots. Babies, nightmares, fluff and angst
1. The Other Shoe

The Other Shoe

The sheets rustle as Oliver slides out of bed, followed by the creak of the loose floorboard by the door. A minute later Felicity hears the door to the deck slide open, and then closed again. She sits up in bed, glancing at the digital clock glowing faintly in the darkness.

2:37 am.

Almost every night for the past two weeks Oliver has slipped away as soon as he's convinced she's asleep, and Felicity doesn't know where he goes, or why; only that he's always back by the time she wakes up in the morning, his warm solidity wrapped around her like an exceptionally well-muscled body pillow. During the day he seems fine. But Felicity knows he hasn't had a full night's sleep in a long time and it worries her that he's keeping his insomnia from her, or at least trying to.

Moonlight slides across the bed as Felicity throws back the covers and drops to the floor.

She finds Oliver on the deck, silhouetted against the moonlit water with his elbows braced against the railing. He turns at the sound of the glass door sliding open.

"Hey," he says softly.

"Hi." Felicity leans against the doorframe, her arms wrapped loosely her arms around herself—all she has on is one of Oliver's old t-shirts and night air is cold.

"Sorry," Oliver says. "I didn't mean to wake you."

She shakes her head. "You didn't."

A small worry crease appears between Oliver's brows. "Are you alright?"

Felicity raises her eyebrows. "Are you?"

For a moment Oliver hesitates. He's spent so many years hiding himself—his true thoughts and feelings—that he has to consciously remind himself that it's been months since he last wore a mask, and much longer since he's really been able to hide anything from her.

"It's stupid." The words fall like bitter stones from his mouth.

Felicity moves on autopilot, crossing to him and cupping his cheek so that he's forced to look her in the eye. His hand rises automatically to cover hers and it's ridiculous how his smallest gestures still send butterflies fluttering in her stomach.

"Talk to me," she whispers.

She can see the moment the dam breaks—the moment her Oliver wins out over the entrenched urge to fake a smile and tell her he's fine. "These past few months," he says, "I've been happier than I've ever been. But lately, I keep thinking about how this can't go on forever. It's going to end. And once we're back in the real world everything's going to be different. I lie next to you at night imagining a thousand ways I might ruin us—a thousand ways I could let you down. In my head it's so easy. And the fact that I'm wasting all our time waiting for the other shoe to drop just makes it worse—"

"Oliver," Felicity interrupts. "I can tell you right now that there is only one thing you could do to ruin us. One thing. Do you want to know what it is? Shutting me out," she says firmly. "Not talking to me. Keeping all this stuff bottled up while I'm a few feet away, wondering. You're right—this isn't going to last forever. The other shoe is going to drop. Personally I'm hoping for a nice pair of Louboutins, but really any free shoes are down with me."

That manages to tug a smile from him and she feels herself mirroring it; she can't help it. It's like looking into the sun and trying not to squint. Impossible. "But when it does we'll face it together. So stop worrying, ok?"

It's strange. Everyone thinks Felicity has a way of knowing exactly what Oliver needs to hear, exactly when he needs to hear it. But from her perspective she's just fumbling in the dark, chasing down whatever words, thoughts, feel right in the moment. It's like trying to catch wisps of fog between her fingers. And every time there's a fraction of a second where she panics, sure she's said the wrong thing. But somehow, she never does. Maybe that's love, she muses. An adventure without a roadmap. Throwing yourself headfirst into the abyss and trusting the other person not to let you fall.

"Ok," Oliver says. He tugs her against him and presses a kiss to her forehead. "Do you want to go back to bed?"

She shakes her head, winding her arms around his waist. "Let's stay out here a bit. We never see this many stars in the city. It's beautiful."

"Yeah," he says, "it is." But he's not looking at the stars. He's looking at a different kind of light, one far more luminous than a clump of plasma a billion miles away, and a heck of a lot closer.

Felicity's too busy to notice; she's got her head thrown back, looking up at the endless expanse of sky. "Can you see any of the constellations? The only one I can ever find is the big dipper." She squints. "That one kind of looks like a usb port."

Oliver chuckles. "That's Libra, the scales of justice."

She snuggles into his chest and sighs. "Whatever. Still looks like a usb port to me."

They end up falling asleep in one of the deck chairs, wrapped up in a beach towel and each other. When they wake the next morning the sun is glittering on the water and their skin is sticky from the salt air. They peel themselves apart and despite the aches that a natural part of sleeping in a chair, both of them are smiling.

A week later the other shoe drops. Thea calls; there's a new big bad in Starling and she can't handle it alone. She needs her big brother, and she needs Felicity's tech support almost as much.

Felicity is in their bedroom, packing, before Oliver is even off the phone.

She glances up at him as he follows her into the room a minute later. "Back to the real world," she says, a careful lightness in her voice. "You ready?"

He leans against the door frame, a small smile dancing around his lips. "As long as you're with me."

"Always," she says.

And for the rest of their lives, she is.


	2. Thomas

Somehow all three of them had managed to stuff into Felicity's hospital bed; the newborn swaddled in Felicity's arms, Oliver cradling them both.

"He's so pretty," Felicity said, looking up at Oliver. "Can we keep him?

Oliver chuckled. "I think that's the idea, babe. You cook him, you keep him."

"Good," she murmured, turning back to the baby and pressing kisses to his tiny palm. "Good. You hear that, bubbala? You're coming home with us, yes you are."

Oliver stared down at the two of them, hardly believing this was his life. If you'd told him when he'd returned from the island that within five years he'd have a wife, a son, and a respectable level of inner peace, he would have told you you were crazy. Yet here they were.

"He needs a name, Felicity."

His wife dragged a finger across the baby's chubby cheek. "You mean we can't just call him Sugar Butt and Babycakes for the rest of his life?"

"I'm all for it but somehow I don't think he'll thank us for that when he gets to middle school."

"No." Felicity sighed. "Probably not. Well. Better call him Tommy then."

Oliver froze midway through smoothing his infant son's enviable cowlick. "Tommy?"

"Don't sound so surprised. I know you've been thinking it ever since we found out he was a boy."

Oliver hesitated. "I thought you liked Gabriel. For you grandfather."

"I like Gabriel for a middle name. But look at that smirk, he's clearly a Tommy." She wiggled her index finger, which the baby had clamped down on. "You're gonna be trouble, aren't you? Just like daddy and Uncle Tommy?"

Oliver hadn't thought he could love his wife any more than he already did. Then again, she'd always had a way of surprising him. "Alright," he said, smiling softly, "Tommy is it."

"Tommy it is," Felicity agreed. "Welcome to the world, Thomas Queen."

Felicity's hair was damp with sweat, her cheeks flushed from the effort of bringing their child into the world. And she'd never looked more beautiful to him than she did in that moment.

Oliver pressed a kiss to her hair. "Thank you."

Smiling, Felicity shifted Tommy in her arms. "What, for this old thing? Hardly anything to get riled up about. It's not like I got you a pair of really nice socks or something."

"For loving me," Oliver said. "And for my family."

Felicity looked up at him, her gaze clear and full of love. "You're welcome. Thank you for mine."

Tommy scrunched up his face and sneezed.

Together, the Queens stared down in wonderment at the squishy pink human in Felicity's arms. "Can you believe we made something so perfect?" Felicity murmured.

"You know," Oliver said, smiling, "somehow I can."


	3. Storms

Be cautious; if thou goest down to the sea, give thyself up to the storm.

-Saadi

Chapter Text

Felicity woke to thunder and darkness and Oliver tense as a rod beside her, his breath coming in short, shallow gasps. With the next thunderclap he threw back the covers and slid out of bed.

Felicity sat up, rubbing her eyes. "Oliver?"

For a moment lightning illuminated his silhouette by the door. Then he was gone.

Oliver had had bad reactions to storms before but they'd become less and less common the longer they travelled. Since they'd settled in Coast City he'd made it through three thunderstorms with little more than a slight shudder. Sometimes all he needed was a minute.

So Felicity gave him a minute. She gave him ten.

Then she went after him.

The light in the hallway was out; the storm must have knocked over a power line. Felicity fumbled along in the darkness, faint shadows swimming across the walls like fish darting just beneath the surface of the water.

She found Oliver on the floor in the living room, pressed into a corner with his knees drawn to his chest, his head tipped back against the wall, and his eyes squeezed shut.

The window was thrown open and the curtains thrashed wildly in the wind. Rain stung Felicity's face and hands as she tried to shove it down but it refused to budge.

The floorboards creaked as she slid down the wall beside Oliver. "Window's stuck again."

Without opening his eyes he said, "You've got to really yank it."

"I tried. I don't have your biceps."

Oliver managed a small chuckle. "That's probably for the best."

Lightning split the sky and the room lit up like an after image, the crash of the sea against the stormwall threatening to drown out the rolling thunder.

Oliver groaned softly and reached for Felicity, more by instinct then by conscious choice. She squeezed his hand and his breathing slowed the tiniest fraction. She could practically see him counting out the beats in his head: _in_ , 1, 2, 3, _out_ , 1, 2, 3.

"I never told you about the first night after I came back from the island," he said. It was a statement not a question. Still, laying her head on his shoulder, Felicity shook her head.

He licked his lips. "There was a bad storm, like this one. I was asleep, or half asleep, maybe, because I knew it was storming and it reminded me of when-"

"The Gambit went down," Felicity said.

Oliver nodded. "My mother woke me up and I tried to strangle her, Felicity. Walter had to pull me off her." Oliver opened his eyes just as lightning flooded the room, igniting the wild blue of his irises.

Another deafening clap and Oliver shuddered. Felicity drew him against her body, one arm banded around his chest, the other slowly carding his damp hair. His face was wet against the crook of her arm; his fingers digging almost painfully into her thigh.

"I'm sorry," he gasped. "I'm so sorry."

Felicity didn't know whether he was apologizing to her or to Moira or to some greater metaphysical being. It hardly mattered; if Oliver begged for absolution Felicity would give it to him, the way only she could.

"It's alright," she murmured. "Shh. It's all alright."

They stayed like that a long time.

By morning the storm had swept out to sea. Seagulls danced across a pale blue sky and Oliver was asleep with his head in Felicity's lap. The curtains swayed in a soft, sweet smelling breeze that skittered across Felicity's skin like butterfly wings. Pale sunlight dappled happily across the walls. It felt as though the world had shed some terrible burden and in the process set to remaking itself: fresh and clean and new.

Felicity traced the shell of Oliver's ear as she watched him sleep. "Hey, sleepyhead," she said, pressing a kiss to his cheek. "Time to wake up. I love you dearly but I can't feel my legs."

Grumbling, Oliver rolled slightly in her lap. His eyes fluttered open. The blue seemed lighter somehow- crystalline almost, like the water beyond the window. It took Felicity's breath away.

She smiled down at him. "Hi."

His voice was scratchy with sleep. "Hey."

"What do you want to do today?" Felicity asked, continuing to trace her finger along his ear. "I was thinking we should really fix that window. Batten down the hatches, or whatever it is they say. Think you could manage that?"

Oliver sat up slowly and Felicity suppressed a smile at the redness of his cheek where it had been pressed against his thigh. He ran a hand down his stubbled cheeks. "I could probably do that." Felicity meeped as he tugged her against him and pressed a rough kiss to the top of her head. "I love you, you know," he murmured into her hair.

She smiled into his shirt, breathing him in, savoring his warmth and the sound of his steady heartbeat against her ear. "I know."


	4. First Trimester

"Oliver, is this decaf?"

Oliver glanced over his shoulder at his wife. Felicity was sitting at the kitchen island in her polka dot pajamas staring down at the mug of coffee he'd just handed her as if it were something nasty he'd scraped off the bottom of his shoe.

She sniffed it—Oliver raised an eyebrow; _was it possible to smell caffeine?_ —then set it down and pushed it away. "This is decaf."

Oliver turned away, leaning heavily into the stove and biting back the retorts building up in his head. Ever since she'd gotten home last night Felicity had found seemingly endless reasons to snap at him. He'd left his socks on the floor again. The bedroom was too cold. The bedroom was too hot. Between morning sickness, swollen ankles, and QI launching its new cyber security software, Oliver knew she was stressed. But that didn't make him feel any better about the fact that just an hour ago she'd snapped at him for using too much toothpaste to brush his teeth.

"Is something wrong, Felicity?" he said, trying to keep an even tone. "Other than the fact that I gave you decaf coffee, I mean."

The ten most obnoxious words in human history tumbled from her mouth. "If you don't know, I'm not going to tell you."

Oliver's knuckles whitened against the stove. Seriously, whoever invented that phrase deserved to be drawn and quartered, their body parts flung to the four corners of the kingdom. Or whatever.

A Buddhist monk wouldn't have taken that lying down. And Oliver was no monk. He turned around. "What the hell is your problem? You've been acting pissy since yesterday afternoon and I have no idea why."

Felicity slid down from her stool and started pulling things out of the cupboard and slamming them down on the counter. "Maybe I'm _pissy_ because I have to pee literally. All. The. Time."

"What are you doing?" he asked, exasperated.

Felicity thumped down a box of sugar so hard silvery granules scattered across the counter. "Looking for the regular coffee."

"Felicity, you're the one who said pregnant women aren't supposed to drink caffeine."

She spun on him. "Yes, but then the doctor told me that one cup of coffee a day is perfectly fine. Which you would know if you had been at the appointment yesterday."

Oliver's brow furrowed. "What are you talking about? The OB appointment is tomorrow. It's been on my calendar for a month."

Felicity yanked open the drawer by the sink where they kept old cards and take out menus and shoved a piece of glossy paper at him. Oliver's heart sunk. Not a piece of paper. A sonogram.

"It was yesterday," she said.

Oliver stared down at the sonogram. He could've sworn the appointment was tomorrow. Patricia, his assistant, had reminded him every day for the last week. There was nothing to say except— "I'm sorry, Felicity—"

"I have to pee." Felicity said, brushing past him. "Again. If I'm lucky maybe I'll get to puke out a few vital organs while I'm at it."

Oliver looked back at the image in his hands. It showed little more than a black kidney bean swimming in a sea of static—but after the two blue lines on the pregnancy test, it was still the first piece of concrete evidence that his child, _their child_ , was more than just an abstract concept. They were having a baby.

Oliver found himself smiling in spite of himself. He tucked the sonogram carefully into the pocket of his pajama pants and went after his wife.

Felicity was holed up in the master bathroom; Oliver could hear the sink running as he knocked on the door. "Can I come in?"

"It's open," she said.

He pushed on the door. Felicity was sitting on the floor with her back against the tub, her head in her hands. She looked miserable. His immediate reaction was to pull her into his lap and kiss her but between her anger and the nausea he didn't know how well she'd react to that. He hovered in the doorway, feeling helpless. "Felicity, I'm so sorry. I don't know what to say."

"It's not your fault," she said, her voice muffled by her hands.

"Yes, it is," he insisted. "I must have written the date down wrong or—"

"Oliver!" Felicity looked up at him. She was slightly green and her ponytail was lopsided, locks of damp blond hair falling into her face. "It's not your fault. It's mine."

"I—what?"

Felicity gestured to the toilet bowl. "As I was sitting here getting reacquainted with my dinner I remembered that I changed the appointment. The original time conflicted with a conference call with Beijing so I changed it. And then I forgot to tell you that I changed it. And then I forgot that I forgot to tell you. So basically I've spent the last twelve hours being a dick to you for standing me up at the OB when I was the reason you weren't there. Which kind of makes me wanna vomit more even than I already do." She sucked down a deep breath. "I'm so sorry."

Oliver pressed the heels of his palms against his eyes, letting her words percolate in his mind. The urge to snap at her the way she had been snapping at him, to say she should be sorry, that being a dick was putting it light, was overwhelming. His anger flared up, red hot, then just as quickly it burned itself out and collapsed. By the time he opened his eyes again it was gone.

Oliver slumped down beside her on the cold tile and pulled her against him. His heart melted a little at the way she immediately curled into him like a cat, burrowing her head beneath his chin; there was trust there, that no matter how much they fought, his arms were a safe place and that would never change.

"It's okay," he murmured. "Felicity, hey, it's okay."

She sniffled into his shirt. "If this is an indication of me as a parent things aren't looking too good."

"It was a stupid mistake. We've both been busy. I'm not mad."

She ran her hand over her stomach, which hadn't yet begun to show. "You should be. I made you miss its first photoshoot."

Oliver smiled softly. "It doesn't matter. If Thea has anything to do with it there'll be plenty more." He pulled the sonogram out of his pocket and cradled it in his hand. "So this is the kid, huh?"

Felicity nodded against his collarbone, her fingers hooked into the neckline of his t-shirt. "That's him."

"Him? Did you—"

She shook her head. "No. They can't tell this early. It's just a feeling."

They sat there a while, just staring at the sonogram.

"Felicity, I gotta be honest, this doesn't look like anything to me."

A small smile chased some of the exhaustion from her eyes. "I know. When they showed it to me I was like, that's it? That's what I'm supposed to get emotional over? It's just a little blob."

He kissed her forehead. "But it's our blob."

"Yeah—" She blanched. "Oliver—"

"Hm?"

"I think I'm gonna be sick."

He held back her hair as she retched, rubbing her back and murmuring soft words until the nausea passed.


	5. If

"I'm running your guy through my facial recognition program. If he's been picked up by any traffic cameras in the last twenty four hours we should be able to get a location on him." Felicity was lounging on the bed in her and Oliver's cottage in Coast City with Thea on speaker phone and her favorite laptop open in front of her.

"Awesome," Thea said gratefully. "Thanks so much for this. Have I mentioned recently that I hate running the comms?"

Felicity smiled. "Maybe once or twice. Anyway, I'm glad you called. It feels like it's been forever since the last time you had something for me to do."

"It's been three days, Felicity."

"I know, it's just now that I'm kinda back in it...I guess I just miss being back in it."

"Felicity-" Thea hesitated. "Does my brother know you're doing this? Helping out with the comms and tracking perps and stuff?"

Felicity flopped onto her back, switching the phone off speaker and cradling it between her shoulder and her ear. Above her, the ceiling fan spun in frenzied circles, fighting a losing battle against the oppressive heat and humidity. Even though it was nearly 10 PM, the heat refused to break. A trickle of sweat slipped down Felicity's temple. If it was this bad indoors, she couldn't imagine what it was like outside. How Oliver managed to run in this kind of weather, she'd never understand. "The short answer? No."

"And the long answer?"

Felicity had a sudden longing for an old landline telephone, one with a long cord she could wrap around her finger while she talked the way she used to when she was little and her grandmother would go on and on about bridge club. She grimaced. "The long answer is no, he doesn't."

Thea groaned. "Felicity, we talked about this. You said you'd tell him." Her tone was the auditory embodiment of a wagging finger. "Don't make me cut you off. That won't end well for any of us. Seriously, last night Laurel asked me if I knew how to google someone's phone-"

Felicity pinched the bridge of her nose. "Ping their gps."

"Yeah, well, we figured that out eventually. And Dig's even worse with the tech stuff than Laurel. His idea of high tech is ordering pizza online instead of over the phone."

"Good Lord," Felicity murmured.

"I know. So having your help the last two weeks has been great. But you need to tell Ollie what's going on. I can tell you from personal experience that keeping secrets from a Queen rarely ends well."

"It's not a secret," Felicity protested. "It's just...information that I haven't shared with him yet." Well, that had sounded better in her head. Her laptop started dinging and she rolled onto her stomach to check the search results. "The trace just came back. I've got an address for your perp."

Just then the screen door slammed shut. "Felicity?" Oliver called.

Felicity sat up, pressing the phone against her chest. _Crap buckets._ "I'm in the bedroom!" she called back. Into the phone she said, "Um, I have to go."

"Oliver just came back, didn't he," Thea said dryly.

"No, we don't need a new cable package," Felicity said, as Oliver appeared in the doorway, his shirt nearly soaked through with sweat. "We're fine with the one we have, thank you."

Felicity could practically hear Thea rolling her eyes. "Bye, Felicity."

Felicity hit the end button as Oliver sank onto the edge of the bed and kicked off his shoes. "Hey," she said. "How was your run?"

He grimaced. "Hot. Who were you talking to?"

"No one," Felicity said, a little too quickly. "I mean, not no one. It was obviously someone. I wasn't just like, sitting here talking to myself. Although, I have been known to do that before. It just wasn't anyone important- it was the cable company. They wanted to know if we wanted more...cable."

Oliver watched her ramble with a small smile. "You're cute," he said, leaning forward to kiss her. He was burning up from the run and he tasted like sunscreen and the vanilla chapstick he kept stealing from her purse. After a minute she pushed him away.

"Oliver, you're all sweaty."

"Mhm," he said, leaning back in.

Oh, what the hell. Felicity gave in and allowed herself to meld into him, their kisses growing sloppier and more heated. When she moaned softly against his mouth Oliver pulled away, grinning. "Care to continue this conversation in the shower?"

Felicity smiled back at him. "I could do that." She pushed him off the bed. "Only I'm going to give you a headstart because, and I hate to break this to you, you're kind of disgusting right now."

He pouted at her-Oliver pouting wasn't something she thought she'd ever get used to-but he slid off the bed and headed for the bathroom. "Don't wait too long or you'll miss all the fun."

"You're debauched, Queen," Felicity said, "Absolutely debauched."

The bathroom door cut off his laughter. Felicity waited until she heard the water come on before she hit redial on her phone. Thea picked up on the first ring. "Address?"

"Traffic cameras picked him up at corner of 6th and Gout about ten minutes ago. He shouldn't have been able to get too far."

"I'll let Dig know. And you're gonna tell Ollie, right? That you're helping us?"

"Um. Yeah."

"Felicity," Thea said warningly.

Felicity ran a hand down her face. "I want to, I do! It's just...Oliver, he's so-"

"Happy?" Thea supplied.

Felicity tugged on a loose thread sticking out of the comforter. "Thea, think about it. If I come back to the team, if we all just go back to the way it was, do you think there's any chance Oliver will be able to stay away? And if he can't, if he starts slipping back into that dark headspace..." These were the thoughts that kept Felicity up at night. She lay in the darkness watching Oliver's chest rise and fall, listening to his steady breathing, and _wondering_ \- how long could this last? Felicity loved Oliver more than she'd ever loved anyone or anything in her life but she also wanted more than a life of quiet domesticity. They'd had five months of leisure and Felicity had enjoyed every second of it. But she was also the daughter of a single, working mother; idleness did not become her. "If we come back I'm scared I'll lose him."

"Look-" there was soft creak and Felicity pictured Thea leaning back in her chair and throwing her feet up on the console "-that's a lot of ifs. And as much as I love my brother, in the end, this isn't about him. It's about you. And you miss this, I can tell." Her voice softened. "Just talk to him, Felicity. I'm not telling you to come back to Starling tomorrow. Just talk to him."

"Okay." Felicity sighed. "I will." Disbelieving silence radiated from the other end of the line. "Thea, I will. I promise."

"Okay. I gotta go, Dig's calling me."

Felicity bit her lip. "Alright. Say hi to everyone for me. And be careful."

"I will. Talk to you soon."

The line went dead.

Felicity stared down at her phone. She could tell Thea still didn't believe her. But she would tell Oliver. She would. Maybe not tonight. Probably not tomorrow either. But soon. She just wanted a few more days of simple bliss before everything was up in the air again.

A sound caught her ear, a floating melody drifting between the whirring of the fan and the rush of the water. It was Oliver- he was singing. A smile spread across Felicity's face. Oliver Queen sang in the shower now. Who would have ever guessed.

Felicity slid off the bed and went to join her boyfriend.


	6. Vows

Oliver

"Felicity, on our first date I told you that after I got back from the island the first person I could see as a person was you. But I'm not sure if I've explained properly, or enough, what that felt like. It felt like you handed me back a little piece of my humanity that day. And I think I loved you for it, even if I didn't recognize what that meant at the time." He clears his throat. "Um...sorry, I'm not very good at this. I'll just say... I don't know what would've happened if I'd never walked into your office. I don't who I would be today if I'd never met you. But something tells me the person I am today probably wouldn't like that guy very much. You're my partner, Felicity. In everything. You're my best friend. You have been for years. I love you. I've always loved you. I will always love you. And I can't wait to spend the rest of my life with you."

Felicity

"Oliver." Her eyelids flutter as she sucks down a shaky breath. "Phew, okay, sorry, I promised myself I wouldn't cry but that's clearly not going to work out so that's fine, that's cool. Anyway… that day when you came into my office? You introduced yourself, and I, in the midst of freaking out that the CEO's son had just ambled into my cubicle, blurted out 'I know who you are.' But I didn't- know who you were, I mean. Not really. Not then. But I've spent the past six years discovering exactly who you are, Oliver Queen. And the person you are, the man that you are, is the most beautiful, caring, giving soul I have ever known. You are the man that I believe in. You are the man that I love. And I am so proud to be your girl. You changed my life. I love you."

"Oh and you also make a mean Southwestern omelette. Not that that's why I'm marrying you- I just- he's really good with eggs, guys. Like the kind you eat not the ones in the kind in your... I'm not pregnant, if that's what you're thinking. Um. I'm gonna stop talking now." She turns pleadingly to the officiant. "Could we, ah, get to the actual marrying part? That would be great. Yeah, I'm just a little worried he's gonna leave me at the altar so if we could hurry things up. Okay, great. Thanks."

When the officiant declares them husband and wife they fall towards each other as though the center of gravity was the space between their lips. It's the place they've been running to for years, the place they've always felt at home. And in a way, they never leave it.


	7. Announcements

On May 25th, 2018, Felicity peed on a stick and while she stared down in shock at two pink lines blossoming across the result window, the life she'd known for the last 28 years quietly packed its bags and slipped out the door behind her.

A week went by. Seven days of trying to find exactly the right way to tell Oliver he was going to be a father. A lot of the pregnancy blogs Felicity trolled recommended some kind of play on the phrase "bun in the oven" but Felicity and ovens had never mixed well and she began to feel like the Goldilocks of pregnancy announcements: dismissing every suggestion as either too grand or utterly uninspired.

At the root of her problem was the fact that the pregnancy wasn't exactly planned. She and Oliver had never a real conversation about children. They'd circled the subject on multiple occasions, especially after the Diggles' had their second: a scrunched face little boy named Andy, after an uncle he would never outside of stories. But they'd never confronted the issue head on.

Still, it didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out that one thing Oliver Queen wanted more than anything were kids of his own. It took Felicity to realize this was the very reason he thought kids were the one thing he could never have. Oliver didn't think he deserved them. To even speak of the possibility would be to remind the universe of how good he had it despite all the bad things he'd done in his past. To say he wanted kids would invite fate to retaliate against him for being so horribly presumptuous as to think he deserved the privilege of being a father.

At least, that was how Oliver saw it.

 _Well, too bad, buddy_ , Felicity thought as she lay in bed on May 31st, listening to the water run while Oliver brushed his teeth. It was happening. They were having a baby. And if fate wanted to smite them for it, so be it. She tried to tell Oliver that night as he slid under the covers and pulled her against himself, sighing happily into her hair. But as soon as Felicity opened her mouth her throat closed up like the time she ate that nut riddled pot brownie in college and Oliver went to sleep another night without knowing.

As June stretched into its second week Felicity knew she couldn't wait much longer. She had started feeling nauseous as soon as she woke up in the morning. Oliver was bound to notice soon. Still, the words evaded her.

Then on the morning of June 9th Felicity walked into the kitchen to find Oliver already there, sitting at the table eating cheerios out of a mixing bowl, the newspaper propped up against the orange juice carton in front of him. It was early. Diaphanous light wavered across his features, picking out the gold filaments in his hair. A couple of silvers too, Felicity noticed wryly. He looked so utterly dad-like—or at least how Felicity imagined dads to look, having only had her own for a very short amount of time—that any doubts she'd had disappeared, mist burned off by a midday sun.

Gently pushing the newspaper out of the way, Felicity lowered herself onto Oliver's lap and kissed him. She kissed him the way he'd kissed her in the hospital corridor after Sara was born, cradling his face in her hands, wanting him to feel precious and loved. When she pulled away he was staring at her strangely, as though he knew something was up but he couldn't quite put his finger on what it was. "Felicity?" he breathed.

Felicity took his hand and slid it under the hem of her t-shirt to press against her lower abdomen. "I'm pregnant, Oliver," she said softly. "We're having a baby."

In the end it wasn't an announcement really. It was more like a note, folded neatly into fourths and slipped from her fingers to his while the teacher's back was turned. Quiet. Hopeful.

Sunlight slid across the floor while she waited for him to respond. A soft breeze ruffled the curtains, the smell of freshly cut grass drifting in through the open window. In the morning stillness, Felicity could hear every shake in Oliver's breath as his fingers spread almost reverently across her abdomen, searing her skin with their heat. And in that moment something shifted inside of her. Felicity had spent so much time worrying about telling Oliver the news that she'd hardly reacted to it herself. But now, having said the words aloud, seeing her husband's hand resting on her stomach, the realization rushed over her like a wave.

 _They were having a baby._

The stunned laugh that tumbled from her lips jolted Oliver from his reverie.

His wide eyes flicked up her face. "You're pregnant?"

Felicity bit her lip, nodding.

Oliver smiled slowly at first—his eyes crinkling around the edges like the small, hesitant rays of a sunrise just cresting the horizon—then all at once: an onslaught light and warmth blinding in its brilliance. His hands twisted into Felicity's hair as he tugged her lips down to his. "I love you," he murmured between kisses. "I love you so much." And they were laughing—their cheeks damp, salt on their tongues.

Finally Felicity pulled away, sniffling slightly, her hands grasping Oliver's wrists as he cupped her face. "We're gonna be okay, right?"

"I'll do you one better," Oliver said, smiling as his thumbed a tear off her the ridge of her cheek. "We're gonna be great."


	8. Girl Without a Plan

Felicity puttered around her apartment while she waited for Oliver to arrive, doing inane tasks like refolding her socks and toeing all the shoes in her closet into a straight line. She could hardly believe what she was about to do—that tomorrow she and Oliver would be driving off to who knows where for who knew how long.

Felicity had always been a girl with a plan. From the time she was 7 years old she had known exactly what she wanted to be when she grew up, and had curated a fifteen step program for how to get there. Colored coded sticky notes. Day planners. Calendars with dates marked out two years in advance. That was how Felicity Smoak ran her life.

Until now.

For the first time in Felicity's 25 years, she had absolutely no idea where she would be the next day or what she'd be doing. She only knew that she'd be with Oliver. More than be with him. She'd be _with_ him. They'd be together. Somehow the rest didn't matter.

When the doorbell rang and Felicity practically ran to the door and threw it open. Oliver was standing on the other side, smiling and holding a box from Pete's Pizza. The smell of hot cheese wafted into the apartment and Felicity's stomach grumbled loudly.

"Hi," Oliver said, holding up the box. "I brought dinner."

"I love you," Felicity breathed, tugging him into the apartment and shutting the door behind him.

Oliver ducked his head and Felicity's heart melted into a pile of rainbow colored goo. She cupped his cheek, forcing him to meet her eyes. "And not just because of the pizza," she teased. "I'd say that only accounts for 75% of the reasons I love you."

Oliver followed her into the living room and set the pizza down on the coffee table. "Wine?" Felicity asked, glancing at him over her shoulder as she headed for the kitchen.

"Please."

Felicity grabbed plates and glasses and rejoined Oliver on the living room floor. They ate in silence, both of them too exhausted from the events of the last day, week, month, to do much more than chew and occasionally glance at each other and smile shyly. In her earlier giddiness, Felicity had managed to ignore her exhaustion but as she pushed her plate away and downed the last of her wine it began to creep back into her bones, tugging at her eyelids and making each movement feel like wading through cement. If this was how she felt, she couldn't imagine how tired Oliver must be. Oliver started to pile the plates together but she pushed his hands away and carried them to the kitchen herself.

The dishwasher was still full of clean things—Felicity couldn't even remember the last time she'd run it—so she added the plates to the growing pile in the sink and told herself she'd deal with them tomorrow before they left.

Felicity paused in the doorway between the living room and the kitchen. Oliver had shucked his shoes and jacket and was stretched on the couch, eyes shut, one arm thrown across his forehead. His chest rose and fell with deep, even breaths. Something fluttered deep in Felicity's chest at the sight of him so vulnerable. She lowered the lights until they were only a faint, warm glow and sank carefully on the couch beside Oliver, not wanting to wake him up but wanting to close to him at the same time.

Outside it had started to rain. Raindrops tapped softly against the window, glittering in the yellow light of the streetlamps below.

Oliver's eyes fluttered open and he smiled up at her.

"Sorry," Felicity said. "I didn't mean to wake you."

"Wasn't asleep," he murmured, reaching for her. "Waiting for you."

Oliver pulled her down beside him, shifting so she could curl into his side with her head nestled in the crook of his neck.

"I've been waiting for you too," she whispered, her fingers curling into the neck of his shirt. _For so long._ All the pain and longing and misery that had gone into that wait washed away as Oliver pressed feather-light kisses to her forehead, her eyelids, the tip of her nose, and finally her lips.

Felicity shifted again so they were pressed chest to chest, their legs intertwining. Their hands roamed across each other's bodies as their kisses grew wetter, more desperate. Felicity had changed into pajamas before Oliver arrived: a loose t-shirt and a pair of boyshorts with dalecks on them, and Oliver's hot hands glided easily beneath the hem of her shirt, ghosting up her ribcage, before falling lower to cup to backside and tug her closer, always closer. Felicity's breath hitched as her hands grappled with the bottom of Oliver's shirt, trying to push it up and off him. Finding it impossible from the angle they were laying at, she slid her hands under it instead, reveling in the feel of his hot skin against her fingers. As her hand glided up his chest Oliver hissed and pulled away. Felicity jerked her hand back and propped herself up on her elbow, her face etched with concern. "I'm sorry! Did I hurt you?"

Oliver shook his head, eyes squeezed shut against the pain. "It's just a bruise. From where our police friends shot me." With a small huff he fell back against the pillows and reached up to tuck a piece of loose hair behind her ear. "It's fine," he said, smiling. "Sorry I reacted like that."

"Don't be sorry." Felicity gingerly lowered herself back down beside him and settled into the crook of his arm. Oliver's fingers lightly traced her spine through her t-shirt. "It's only been a few hours since you got shot. I should have remembered. It feels so long ago."

"I know." He kissed her forehead again. "It feels like a lifetime ago."

Oceans separated where they were now from where they'd been mere hours before. Felicity had come so close to losing everything, only to have the trajectory of her life redirected at the last moment. She was still having trouble believing it was all real. She worried that if she allowed herself to fall asleep, she would wake up to find that this night had never happened, that it had all been a lovely, lovely dream.

With a small sigh Felicity settled back against Oliver, her head pillowed on the uninjured side of his chest. For a moment they were silent, just listening to the sound of the rain plinking against the window. Then Felicity said, "As much as I hate to say this, maybe we should resume this activity at a later date." When Oliver didn't respond she lifted her head. "Oliver?" A soft smile spread across her face at the sight that greeted her: Oliver's face was turned away from her, his eyes closed, his long eyelashes dusting the curve of his cheek as he snored softly into the back of the couch.

Felicity pressed chaste kiss to his lips before laying her head back on his chest. They'd have plenty of time to finish what they'd started over the course of the coming months. In fact if she had anything to do with it, that's all they'd be doing for a very long time. For once Felicity was a girl without a plan. And she couldn't wait to begin.


	9. Movie Night

"It's a cartoon."

" _My Neighbor Totoro_ is not a cartoon, Oliver."

"Then what is it?"

"An animated film. And a cinematic masterpiece, in my unbiased opinion."

"Isn't an opinion inherently biased?"

"Oliver."

"Well it looks like a cartoon to me."

"Fine! Then what do you suggest we watch?"

"No way, Felicity. I'm not doing this."

"Doing what?"

"Picking the movie."

"Oliver, you've shot down every single one of my suggestions. That means you have to pick."

"No."

"Why not?"

"Do you not remember what happened last time I picked?"

"You're being dramatic—it wasn't that bad. And anyway it was your fault for picking _Rosemary's Baby_."

"You said yes! Quite enthusiastically if I remember correctly. How was I supposed to know you can't handle horror movies?"

"I handle them just fine, thank you very much."

"Felicity, you didn't sleep for a week. I woke up and you were sitting by the front door holding a tennis racket and mumbling something about showing the devil who's boss."

"I was protecting you. You're welcome for that by the way."

"You were going to protect me from the devil with a tennis racket?"

"Yes, Oliver, with a tennis racket. I'm so sorry my method of saving you from Satan wasn't up to your high standards but we can't all be bow and arrow aces now can we."

"I'm just saying. The fireplace poker would have been much more effective."

"How about I go get my tennis racket and we'll see how effective it is."

"Now you're just being mean."

"I was really scared, Oliver!"

"I know. And that's why I'm not picking the movie. You say yes no matter what I suggest. Felicity, stop pouting! Think about it this way—I'm protecting you from yourself."

"Fine. I'll pick. But you'll owe me."

"I'll owe you for letting you pick the movie?"

"That's the deal."

"Seems backwards but fine. What do I owe you?"

"Two foot massages and I get to eat all the tops off the next batch of muffins you bake."

"No way! You know I hate when you do that."

"That's why I'm telling you in advance! Take it or leave it."

"Argh. Alright. But I get to pick the flavor of the muffins."

"You have yourself a deal, Mr. Queen."

"So what are we watching?"

" _My Neighbor Totoro_."


	10. Flu Shot

"Oliver, I changed my mind."

"Felicity, no. You're doing this."

"You can't make me."

"You let Tommy change the password on all your computers and you told him not to tell you what it is until you did this."

"I'll figure it out."

"I seriously doubt that. Our son has a very vivid imagination. And an excessively large vocabulary for a five year old—which is entirely your fault by the way."

"All I have to do is offer to trade Tommy a cookie for the password. Thank God he didn't inherit your aversion to sweets. Come on let's go home this place is giving me the heebie jeebies."

"Felicity. You're getting a flu shot."

"No, I'm not. Where are my keys? Did you take my keys?!"

"I drove you here. I've had the keys the whole time."

"Give me the keys, Oliver."

"After you get your shot. Look, that little girl's like four and she just got one and she doesn't look traumatized or anything."

"Thank you for pointing out that I am a bigger scardey-cat than a four year old."

"That's not what I meant. You're the bravest person I know."

"Clearly that is not true. And you don't even know about the kangaroos."

"Kangaroos?"

"They look evil—you know what never mind."

"Look at this pamphlet. It says pregnant women have a higher risk of developing serious complications from the flu than non-pregnant women. You're pregnant."

"Oh, am I? That explains so much. Like this giant balloon sticking out of my stomach."

"There's no need for sarcasm, darling."

"You know I'm starting to think you only got me pregnant as part of a long con to force me to get a flu shot."

"You caught me. That was absolutely 100% my motive."

"Well joke's on you cause I wanted another baby all along."

"We do make cute babies."

"Mmm. Just cause I let you kiss me doesn't mean I'm getting the shot."

"Felicity Queen?"

"You're up, babe."

"Oliver, I can't do this!"

"Yes, you can. I'll hold your hand the whole time. Think of baby Tallulah."

"Oliver, we've been over this. We are not calling our daughter Tallulah."

"You said you'd think about it."

"I did think about it. And we're not calling her—ow!"

"All done, Mrs. Queen."

"You could have warned me, you know."

"I'm very sorry, ma'am. Would you like a sticker?"

"No, I would not like a sticker. You think you can just sneak up on people with needles and then distract them with—is that a Doctor Who sticker?"

"It would appear so."

"I'll take that one, please."


	11. Blanket Fort

"It's really cozy in here."

"It is."

"I have to admit, you're a skilled blanket fort builder, Mr. Queen. Very sturdy."

"I'm blushing."

"It's one of the two main reasons I married you actually."

"Oh really? What was the other reason?"

"You always fold my socks when you do laundry. It saves me like 15 seconds every time I need a pair of matching socks."

"Felicity you wear heels 99% of the time."

"And the other 1% of the time I wear shoes that require socks and you save me 15 seconds. What can I say—I'm a business woman; time is money."

"Well I'm glad you married me for such a heartfelt reason."

"Obviously that's not the only reason I married you. Like I said, I admire your skill in blanket fort building. It's a real alpha male ability."

"It is, isn't it."

"I really think the kids are gonna love this."

"Felicity, we don't have any kids."

"Yet."

"Are you suggesting we leave this up until we have kids?"

"Why is that weird?"

"I mean it takes up a lot of space. And I assume it's gonna be a while..."

"Not that long. I've heard nine months is the norm although I'm not exactly sure how far along I am so it could be less."

"...are you saying what I think you're saying?"

"That I'm pregnant? Yes. At least, if the fourteen and a half pregnancy tests I took this morning are to be believed. Oh and don't worry I'll replace your orange juice. I needed pee fuel."

"How do you take half a pregnancy test?"

"I started to pee on it but I ran out of...is that really what you want to focus on right now?"

"You're pregnant!"

"That's what I'm trying to—Oliver you're suffocating me!"

"Sorry, I'm sorry. I'm just really happy."

"Promise? I was a little worried."

"Felicity, I've never been happier in my life. I love you. I love you so much."

"I love you too. Hey, Oliver?"

"Hm?"

"Does this mean we can leave the blanket fort up?"


	12. Nightmares

Felicity awoke the nightmare with ragged gasp. Her eyes snapped open to a room was utterly dark and still. She had twisted herself up in the sheets while she slept and it was suffocatingly hot beneath the heavy comforter. Felicity pushed it down to her waist and fell back against the headboard, staring up at the velvety blackness pooled in the center of the ceiling as images of her dead family continued to flash across her mind. _It wasn't real,_ she reminded herself _. It wasn't real. It was just a dream._

But it had all been so vivid. Oliver, dead, his neck twisted at an unholy angle, blood pouring from a wound in his gut. Tommy, her sweet boy, his blue eyes glazed over, small fingers cold and lifeless. Sophie—her baby—a sob wracked Felicity's shoulders and she clamped a hand over her mouth to dull the sound. The last thing she wanted was to wake up the kids when she was in this state.

More than anything she wished Oliver was there to wrap her up in his arms and kiss the fear away. But her husband was currently hundreds of miles away at a conference in Gotham and he wasn't supposed to be back until morning, which itself felt impossibly far away. Felicity pulled her knees to her chest and squeezed her eyes shut, hot tears marking tracks down her cheeks. She was no stranger to nightmares. In the aftermath of Damian Darkh's rampage they'd become an almost nightly occurrence. But Oliver had always been there to hold her until her body stopped shaking, to whisper reassurances into her ear until his words chased the lingering screams out of her head. Tonight she was alone.

"Mommy?"

Felicity opened her eyes at the sound of the small voice. Her four year old stood in the bedroom doorway in her Disney princess pajamas clutching Blue, the ratty baby blanket she refused to be parted with. Moonlight caught in her pale hair, making a halo of her tangled curls. Felicity pushed herself up in the bed, wiping furiously at her eyes and forcing her mouth into the shape of a smile. "I'm sorry baby, did I wake you up?"

"You were crying."

"Mommy had a bad dream, bubbala . But I'm fine now. You can go back to bed."

Sophie didn't leave. Instead she asked, "Was your dream about monsters?"

Felicity let out a shaky laugh. "Yeah. You could say that."

To Felicity's surprise her daughter's small face it up. "Then I know what to do!" She disappeared from the doorway and a moment Felicity's heart stuttered but a few seconds later Sophie reappeared, this time loaded down with an armful of stuffed animals. She dropped them onto the bed then dashed out again only to reappear with another armful of plush tigers and dolphins which she threw onto the bed before clambering up herself.

"Whatcha doin, bud?" Felicity asked, watching as Sophie began to carefully line the animals into a border around her. Her heartbeat was slowly returning to normal as she watched her daughter with a slight smile on her face.

"Daddy showed me how to do this," Sophie said, placing a stuffed zebra lovingly against Felicity's toes. "When you have a bad dream the buddies will protect you. Daddy says they're the best guards against monsters because they don't have to sleep like we do." Sophie completed the circle of stuffed animals then lay down with a small huff beside her mother so that they were almost nose to nose. She patted Felicity's cheeks with between her hands. "Go to sleep, mommy. We'll protect you."

"You will, huh?"

"Yep! Me and the buddies." Sophie yawned.

Felicity smiled, a real smile this time. "How bout we both go to sleep and the buddies take the first watch?"

Sophie's eyes were already fluttering closed. "Good plan, mommy," she mumbled.

Felicity chuckled and pulled her daughter closer, breathing in her familiar smell. She tucked the comforter tighter around Sophie's small shoulders. The little girl was already softly snoring, her lips parted just slightly. "I love you, sheina miedel," Felicity whispered. "Thank you."

When Oliver arrived home early the next morning the house was quiet. The only thing that moved was the pale morning light sliding across the walls. He stopped in his and Felicity's bedroom to drop off his bags and found his wife and daughter snuggled together in their bed, a broken perimeter of stuffed animals surrounded them—an unfortunate few had been kicked to the floor while the girls slept. He smiled at them for a moment then went to check on his son. Tommy was small lump hidden entirely beneath his covers. Oliver pulled his door shut and headed to the kitchen.

The rest of the family woke an hour later to the smell of pancakes and coffee. Felicity padded into the kitchen with Sophie on her hip, their hair pulled into matching messy buns. She stopped at Oliver's side and titled her head up for a kiss. "Mm, I'm so glad you're back. We've been living on cereal all week. How was the conference?"

"Boring. Tedious. Far away from you." He kissed her again. Then he turned to Sophie and pinched her chin between his fingers. "And you." He took them both in. "Everything okay here while I was gone?"

"Yeah, we're good." Felicity said, smiling up at him. "You have a very smart daughter, you know."

"I do know. I wonder where she gets it from," Oliver teased.

"Oh, I think I know," Felicity said, gazing up at him with an equal amount of love.


	13. Turbulence

"Felicity, you're hurting me."

"I'm sorry!"

"I can't feel my fingers."

"I said I'm sorry what more do you want?"

"Ideally I'd like to be able to feel my fingers."

"Sorry."

"Yes, you said that. But you're still crushing my hand. Could you just loosen your grip a tiny bit?"

"No, Oliver, I can't."

"Why not?"

"Because if I do the plane will crash."

"It will?"

"Yes. Oh god—why is there so much turbulence today?!"

"You know you're actually way more likely to die in a car crash than a plane crash, right?"

"We're not in a car right now, are we?"

"I'm just saying, statistically speaking—"

"Do not lecture me on statistics, Oliver Queen. You failed that class. Three times, in case you forgot."

"How could I forget you when keep reminding me?"

"I'm sorry! I'm just lashing out because I don't want to die."

"You're not going to die, sweetheart."

"Tommy picked his nose the other day. Twice. I meant to tell him to stop but I got distracted by a work call. Oh god, Oliver, what if we die and no one ever tells him to stop picking his nose and he grows up to be that guy you pull up next to at a stoplight who's got his entire finger stuffed up his nose—"

"Felicity, he's two and a half. I wouldn't be too worried about him turning into a serial nose picker just yet."

"Why is the plane shaking like that? Is that normal? Here comes the stewardess can you please ask her if that's normal?"

"I'm not going to do that."

"Please?"

"No."

"What if I do that thing you like as soon as we get to the hotel?"

"Excuse me, ma'am? Is this a normal amount of turbulence? Okay, thank you. My wife is just being a little bit of a nervous flyer today."

"You didn't have to tell her you were asking for me!"

"But I was asking for you."

"Oliver?"

"Hm?"

"Thank you for not letting go."

"Never."

"And I love you."

"You're just saying that right now because you think we're going to crash, aren't you?"

"Only a little bit."

"I love you too, babe."


	14. Home Cooked Meal

"Dad!"

"Daddy!"

Oliver stumbled back as both his kids shot at him like cannonballs the second he walked through the front door.

"Hi guys," he said, petting his daughter's head before reaching around her to pull the door shut behind him. It had only been one night but both kids clung to him like he'd been gone for a year. "Everything okay here?"

They both looked up at him with matching expressions of despair.

"Okay, spill. What's going on?"

Tommy glanced around before saying in a low voice, "Mom cooked dinner last night."

"We told her we could just order take out," Sophie said, wide eyed, "but she said we were going to have a _home cooked meal_."

Oliver swallowed a laugh. He'd tried to teach Felicity to cook when they first got together but it hadn't gone very well. It was like trying to teach a cat to crochet—it had nothing to do with effort or intention; if the crocheter doesn't have thumbs it was a lost cause to begin with. "You mean she made pasta?"

Tommy shook his head. "A whole chicken. And sides."

"That poor chicken," Sophie said sadly.

"Poor us," Tommy grumbled. "I'm surprised I didn't lose a tooth on that thing."

"That bad, huh?" Oliver said.

"I don't want Mommy to cook anymore," Sophie said. "She gets angry when she cooks. She kept yelling about how chickens should have gone texting with the dinosaurs!"

"Extinct," Tommy corrected. "She said chickens should have gone extinct with the dinosaurs."

"Oh," Sophie said, nonplussed. "I don't know what that means."

"Where's your mother now?" Oliver asked.

"In her office," Tommy said, moving away to flop on the couch and flip on the TV. "She's been in there all morning. She always codes when she's grumpy."

"Alright, I'll go talk to her."

"Be careful, daddy," Sophie said, patting his hand.

The door to Felicity's home office was open. She was sitting at her desk in her pajamas, her hair pulled into a messy ponytail with pencil stuck in it. She looked soft and rumpled and comfortable—she looked like home. Oliver had to resist the urge to stride over to her and pull her into his arms. Instead he knocked lightly on the door. Best not to startle her when she was in a bad mood. "Hi, honey. I'm home."

"I can hear you smiling, Oliver," Felicity said without looking at him. "The kids told you about last night?"

"They might have mentioned something." Oliver crossed to her chair and set to massaging her shoulders, digging his thumbs into the base of her neck the way he knew she liked. "I'm sure they exaggerated a bit."

"Mm." She leaned back into his hands, her eyes fluttering closed. After a minute she opened them again spun the chair around to look up at him. "They didn't exaggerate. It was really bad. Like really, really bad."

Unable to resist any longer, Olive pulled her out of the chair and wrapped his arms around her waist. "As bad as the time you tried to make scalloped potatoes?"

"You swore we'd never talk about that again!"

"I'm sorry," Oliver said, trying not to laugh as she burrowed her face into the crook of his neck. "I promise I won't do it again."

"I think I'm really done this time. No more cooking for me. It's all you, babe. I'm officially a culinary failure."

"Well it's a good thing you're great at so many other things."

"I am, aren't I?

"Mhm."

Felicity pulled back a bit and wiggled her eyebrows at him. "Hey, want to practice one of the other things I'm really good at?"

"The kids..."

Felicity glanced the time on her computer. "Bill Nye is on in two minutes. They're obsessed. We have exactly half an hour."

This time Oliver didn't try to hide his smile. "Lock the door."


	15. 3rd Anniversary

"Stop laughing!"

"I'm trying...I can't. Oh my god."

"Oliver, it's not funny!"

"Oh come on, you have to admit it's a tiny bit funny."

"You're the worst husband ever! I can't believe you're laughing about this!"

"I'm just imagining his face—did he seemed surprised?"

"Did the random dude whose hotel room I walked into in nothing but my underwear seemed surprised to see me? Yeah, you could say that."

"I bet he was happy too, though."

"I'm filing for divorce."

"It's our anniversary!"

"I'm gonna go ask the guy in room 620 if he wants to get a drink. I bet he's a great guy. I bet he wouldn't laugh at his wife for making an honest mistake."

"I'm sorry! I'll stop laughing please don't divorce me."

"Too late. You had your chance, Queen. Now it's Carl's turn."

"...who's Carl?"

"My friend in 620."

"How do you know his name?"

"He told me."

"What, did you hang around for a chat with the guy?"

"I wouldn't say that. He was having some computer trouble so I offered to help him out."

"..."

"I was just being a good Samaritan."

"You were only wearing underwear."

"Oh, Carl let me borrow his robe. The fan in his laptop is broken so it kept overheating and then crashing and then he'd reboot it and the whole thing would start all over again. I didn't have the parts to fix it but at least now he knows what's wrong."

"..."

"Why are you looking at me like that?"

"I don't think I like Carl. In fact, I kind of want to punch Carl."

"Well that's not fair. You've never even met the guy. He was perfectly nice."

"This isn't funny, Felicity!"

"30 seconds ago you thought it was hilarious."

"That was before I knew you decided to hang out in his hotel room in your underwear!"

"Oh stop being so dramatic. We did not 'hang out.' And anyway, it wasn't even my fancy underwear. I haven't put that on yet."

"...fancy underwear?"

"Mhm. Special, 3rd anniversary night underwear. I'll give you a hint: it's green."

"I like the sound of that."

"I thought you might."

"So does this mean you're not going to divorce me?"

"Let's just say there's a lot riding on how the rest of the night goes."

"Then it's a good thing you're so good at riding."

"...I am, aren't I?"


	16. 2 am

It was two am when Felicity slid out of bed and padded down the hall to her daughter's room. Sophie's door was ajar and the soft yellow light from her panda bear nightlight spilled into the dark hallway. Felicity leaned against the doorframe, the tightness in her chest loosening as she watched Sophie's back rise and fall. Her small body was curled around the lime green cast on her wrist-she'd broken it falling from the monkey bars at the school playground earlier that day.

The call from the school nurse replayed in Felicity's head— _Mrs. Queen? I'm calling about Sophie. She's had an accident. We tried to call your husband but we weren't able to reach him_ -

Felicity had rushed to the school to find her seven year old sitting in the nurse's office holding a bag of ice to her wrist and chatting with nurse about the merits of various Disney princesses.

"Jasmine's my favorite," Sophie was saying very seriously, her short legs pumping away beneath her, "because she has a pet tiger. I asked my daddy if we could get a tiger but he said only maybe a gerbil." Her pink-tipped nose was the only evidence that she'd been crying. When she saw Felicity her whole face lit up and Felicity had to swallow the sob that had been rising in her throat since she'd gotten the call so that she could give her daughter a wobbly smile.

At the emergency room Sophie chattered with the nurses about what she was going to name her gerbil. "I'm going to call her Princess Leia. That's what mommy wanted to name me before I was born but daddy wouldn't let her." Then she had insisted on a green cast because green was her daddy's favorite color. "I think it's cause momma always wears green undies for their nanniversary!"

How she knew that Felicity had no idea.

Before she had kids Felicity had always slightly resented the way people talked about their lives beginning only once their children were born. Now she understood. It wasn't that she hadn't had a life before. It was more about the fact that she had become someone else—something else—after. She wasn't just Felicity anymore. She was _mom_. She was the fixer and the soother and the purveyor of snacks and time outs and silly songs. It was terrifying. It was one of the best damn things to ever happen to her.

Felicity climbed onto Sophie's bed and slid into the gap between the warm lump that was her daughter and the wall. She smoothed Sophie's soft curls away from the base of her neck and pressed a kiss to her baby soft skin. Sophie shifted unconsciously in her sleep, molding her body into her mother's and for a fleeting moment it was like they were one person again, the way they'd been when Felicity was pregnant and she'd whispered promises to her bump-to love her always, to protect her from whatever harm the world might try to do to her. It had been seven years since then and Felicity had quickly learned what an impossible promise that was to keep. But she would never stop trying.

Sophie yawned without opening her eyes. "Momma?" she murmured.

"Mhm?"

"How long are you gonna love me?"

"Forever, baby."

Sophie yawned again and rubbed her eyes with the back of her hands. "That's a really long time."

Felicity smiled into the pillows. Her heart ached, the particular happy-sad kind of ache that results from knowing you have something so wonderful that losing it would absolutely destroy you.

 _Not long enough._


	17. Games we play

"Okay, here's one. If you could be anywhere in the world right now where would you be?"

"Well that's easy. Here. In bed with you."

"Oliver."

"What?"

"You're not playing the game right! You're not supposed to say where you already are."

"But that's my honest answer."

"Well pick somewhere else."

"Felicity, that's my final answer. Take it or leave it."

"You're such a stinker."

"I know. You really weren't thinking straight when you fell for me were you?"

"I must have hit my head on the way down."

"Ha ha, you're hilarious. Ask me another question."

"Only if you promise to play properly."

"I promise to be good."

"Pinky swear?"

"Cross my heart and hope to die."

"Okay, fine. If you could be doing anything at all right now what would it be?"

"Lying in bed with my girlfriend."

"Oliver!"

"What?"

"You did it again! You pinky swore!"

"Stinker, remember? Ask me another."

"No way!"

"Come on, just one more."

"Fine. But if you don't give me a good answer I'm kicking you out of bed."

"Fair enough."

"If you could be eating anything right now what would it be? Hey, where are you going?"

"Shh, Felicity. I'm showing you my answer."

"Wha—oh. _Oh!_ Good answer. Very good answer."


	18. Pillowtalk

_i love you much (most beautiful darling)_

 _more than anyone on the earth and i_  
like you better than everything in the sky

-e.e cummings

Chapter Text

"Do you know what do you love most about you?" Felicity asked. They were lying tangled together in bed, Felicity's head pillowed on Oliver's chest.

"It's the cooking isn't it?"

Felicity drew small circles on his chest with her finger. "No. That's definitely in the top five though."

"Is it that I'm really good at backrubs?"

She poked him in the ribs. "I'm being serious here."

Oliver smiled and kissed her. The sweet kind. The kind of kiss that sighs straight through your lips and into your soul. "I know. I'm sorry."

"Do you want my real answer?"

Oliver hesitated, then nodded.

"I love how fully you love. How you give all of yourself to others without reservation. To me. To Thea. To the city. It's incredibly brave. I want to be like that."

Oliver's brow creased. "Felicity, you are. You're the bravest person I know."

"That's not what I mean." She sounded sad. He wanted to kiss her again but he could tell she had more to say so he waited. "In all my relationships there's always been this piece of me that I've held back—a little part of myself I kept hidden away, just for me. I thought I was being strong because I kept myself guarded but I don't think that anymore. I just don't know how to...not be that way."

"I'll help you," he said, and he heard her let out her breath. "We'll figure it out. Together."

She snuggled closer, sliding her leg between his and pressing her icy toes against his calf. "How do you always know the right thing to say?"

He smiled into her hair. "Luck, I suppose. Have you ever considered sleeping in socks?"

"Can't sleep with socks." She yawned. She was barreling toward sleep on a runaway train. Her eyelashes fluttered against his chest, the barest sensation skittering across his skin. "Oliver?"

"Hm?"

"I'm going to say yes. Just wanted you to know."

The moon slid out from behind a cloud, gilding the sheets in pale light. Felicity's hair was a silver halo on her pillow. Oliver pressed a light kiss to her forehead. "I know."

Felicity nodded and burrowed deeper into his arms. "Good," she murmured. "That's good. Imma sleep now."

His arms wrapped around her tight, intent on holding her through the night. "Sweet dreams."


	19. 410 spec fic

Felicity came to in a small cell with grey walls. There were no windows. A thin slit near the top of the door let in a single shard of light from the hallway. Other than that she sat in darkness.

She tried to move and her body screamed. She had bruised ribs, at least two of them. A tiny marching band was pounding out an enthusiastic beat against her skull. Awareness of the rest of her body parts crept in slowly, one piece at a time. Her arms were shackled to the wall behind her. Her legs folded beneath her and her ankles zip tied together.

She tried to remember what had happened but the miniature drummer smashing his mallet against her orbital bone made it difficult. She remembered getting into the limo with Oliver. She remembered Andy turning around in the driver's seat to congratulate them on their engagement, but after that...darkness.

The door to the cell opened. Felicity winced and cowered back into the wall as light flooded her eyes. The door closed again and the flare receded. In its place stood Damian Darhk. He was holding a tray with a bowl of what looked like oatmeal. Plus an apple, a cookie, and a juice box. It was the kind of lunch one might expect to get from an elementary school cafeteria.

"Ms. Smoak," he said pleasantly. "I was so glad to hear you're awake. I really hope you won't take this whole thing personally. I promise, it's really not about you at all."

Felicity didn't say anything. What was the point? As good as she was at poker, in this game Darhk held all the cards. It didn't matter what she said. He'd call her bluff the second she opened her mouth.

"Are you giving me the silent treatment? If so I hate to disappoint you but I'm rather immune. I had hoped we could be cordial with one another but if you're determined to make this an unpleasant experience there's really nothing I can do to change it."

Darhk waited, an almost genial expression on his face, as though he'd just asked her if she had the time.

When it became clear she wasn't going to respond he sighed, as though confronted with a petulant child, and crouched down to lay the tray on the floor in front of her. "Very well, then. I must say, you're a very rude guest, Ms. Smoak. Even Mr. Palmer had the kind manners to thank me when I brought him sustenance. I see I'll get no such gratitude from you."

"It won't work," Felicity said suddenly. Her voice sounded hoarse, shredded at the edges from lack of use. How long had she been out? A few hours? A day? More? Her eyes flicked to his face. He was watching her, curiously almost.

"I'm not sure what you're referring to," he said. "But I assure you, if I planned it, it will work."

"You want to use me as bait to lure him here." Felicity licked her lips. The bottom one was split down the middle. "That's your plan right? It won't work." She tried to swallow but that hurt too. Everything hurt, actually. Her very nerve endings were aflame. But that didn't matter at the moment. What mattered was convincing Darhk he'd made a huge mistake. "Oliver's smarter than this. He won't fall for your trap."

"Ms. Smoak. Felicity. Do you mind if I call you Felicity?"

"Ms. Smoak is fine." For all of his fine suits and glinting cufflinks, the carefully combed hair and talk of renewed civilization, Damian Darhk was the basest creature she had ever encountered. Human life meant nothing to him. He was despicable. But Felicity wouldn't waste her breath telling him so. He'd probably take it as a compliment anyway.

A hint of a smile twitched across Darkh's face. His thumb ghosted over her cheek bone. Felicity's empty stomach roiled and she fought the urge to turn her head away. Instead she raised her chin, meeting his eyes defiantly.

"Such spirit," he sighed. "You're truly one of a kind, Felicity. And that's exactly why you're wrong."

"What do you mean?" The words escaped without her permission.

"Of course your boyfriend, excuse me—" Darhk's pale eyes flicked to the ring on Felicity's left hand " _fiancé_ , knows this is a trap. It simply doesn't matter. He loves you too much to care. He'll gladly turn himself over and consider it a good deal as long as it means you go free."

Felicity wanted to deny it. Both to herself and Darhk. If Oliver couldn't find another way...he'd have to let her go. The city needed him too much to lose him now. Not for her. Definitely not for her. But she couldn't. Because she knew Oliver to his bones and Darhk was right. He'd give himself up in a heart beat if it meant saving someone he loved. So she spat at Darhk because it was the only thing in her power to do.

The globule caught him in the chest. For a second he stared down at it, his face caught halfway between surprise and disgust.

For a second Felicity thought he might not react. Then the backhand caught her across the face. Stars exploded before her eyes as her head snapped back into the wall behind her. She tasted blood.

Darhk stood, clucking his tongue. He dabbed at his lapel with paisley handkerchief conjured from his pocket. "So vulgar. If I can't stand one thing, it's vulgarity. Suddenly I'm glad I planned to kill you whether Mayor Queen turned himself over or not. Maybe I'll even let him watch. That could be fun." He lowered the handkerchief and stared down at her. The false cordiality was gone, replaced by a look of pure malice and something else Felicity couldn't identify. Glee, she realized after a moment. He was enjoying this. His eyes widened. "What do you say, Ms. Smoak? Will you help me put on a show?

Felicity's mouth was full of blood; she'd bitten deep into her tongue. Her head was still ringing, although the white light had begun to recede from the edges of her vision. She squeezed her eyes shut and tried to picture Oliver. Oliver's face when she'd agreed to marry him. The funny wrinkle that appeared between his brows when he was cooking. The sound of his laughter. Just Oliver. Just him.

There was a soft click and Felicity assumed someone had opened the door for Darhk. "Good evening, Ms. Smoak," he said joyfully. "I do hope you enjoy the meal. I expect it will be your last."

The door creaked as it was pulled shut and Felicity was plunged back into darkness.


	20. Epilogue (post 423 spec)

"For now." Oliver's eyes followed the Argus van until it disappeared around the corner. Then he turned to look at Felicity. The late afternoon sunlight glinted off her hair, turning it to burnished gold as she shook her head incredulously.

"Come on, Queen. You did good. Just let yourself have this one."

A smile tugged at Oliver's mouth. "Talking myself out of a victory is one of the things I do best, remember?"

"Ah, yes." Felicity rocked back on her heels. "Now that you mention it that does sound familiar."

They fell silent. A breeze rustled the branches of the flowered tree overhead and a few white petals drifted down onto their shoulders. Star City was already returning to normal; for the first time in days no sirens wailed in the distance. Just a dog barking and taxis honking. On the other side of the street pipes clanged as a construction crew hoisted them into place, already hard at work repairing the damage left in Darhk's wake.

"So—" Oliver said.

"Did you wanna—" Felicity said at the same time.

"Sorry, what?" Oliver asked.

Felicity hesitated. "I was just gonna ask if you wanted to grab some dinner. Taking down a super villain always kind of gives me the munchies and I thought maybe you were hungry too. But if you're not that's totally fine—"

"Yes," Oliver interrupted. He felt like it had been months since he'd heard her ramble. Years. He hadn't realized how much he missed it. "I'd love to."

"Yes?" Felicity said. She looked slightly taken aback like she hadn't really held out hope he'd accept. "Oh. Okay. Good."

After a brief pause Oliver said, "Now? Or—?"

"Now is good," Felicity said quickly. "I mean…now…now is good." She took a deep breath. "Now is good."

"So…let's go?"

Felicity smiled, her cheeks were slightly flushed as she pushed a stray lock of hair out of her face. "Let's go."

They started off down the sidewalk, Oliver shortening his stride to match hers.

"Oh, I meant to tell you," Oliver said. "I finished the _Deathly Hollows._ It was good butI feel like it would have been better without the epilogue."

"Oh, thank god."

"What?"

"I thought you were gonna say you liked it. The epilogue, I mean."

"No. Definitely not. What kind of name is Albus Severus?"

"A horrible one. Truly awful. Like Harry would name a kid after Snape before Lupin or Hagrid."

"That's what I thought!"

"Cause it's true! Can I just say how glad I am that we agree on this?"

They turned the corner and kept going. There was not a cloud in the sky.


	21. Improper Behavior

Felicity shielded her eyes as she stepped onto the little pool deck outside their bungalow. The blistering Bali sun threw diamonds across the surface of the water, dazzling her. It had been like this every day since they'd arrived: searing blue skies, swaying palm trees, the smell of the ocean tickling her nose…

The deck blistered beneath Felicity's feet as she walked to the edge of the pool. Oliver had gone to sleep on a blow up raft in the middle of the water, a Star City Rockets cap pulled low over his face. His board shorts hung dangerously low around his hips.

"Oliver," Felicity said.

Oliver roused himself and tipped the hat out of his face. He frowned up at her. "Why are you still wearing clothes?"

"I can't find any of my bathing suits." Felicity raised an eyebrow. "You wouldn't know anything about that, would you?"

"No," he said, but the corner of his mouth twitched.

"Really? Not a clue?" 

"Not a one." His eyes eyes sparkled. Liar, she thought. Felicity narrowed her eyes. "I know what you're doing."

"What am I doing?" he said innocently.

"I'm not going to skinny dip. So you can just give it up right now and tell me where my suits are."

Oliver rolled off the raft and swam frog-like to the side of the pool. Hanging himself off the edge, he wrapped his wet hands around Felicity's ankles. They were cool against her hot skin. A tiny shiver skated up her spine. "No one will see." He pressed a kiss to the front of her calf.

"They might," Felicity said, folding her arms. "I'm not some kind of exhibitionist."

"Oh?" Oliver smiled up at her. "What about the ferris wheel in Portland?"

Felicity felt a little breathless. Maybe because of the heat. Maybe because Oliver had started skating his fingers up and down the backs of her calves, a little higher each time. Maybe because the memory of Oliver's hand pushing between her legs as their cab swung from the top of the Portland ferris wheel, suddenly jumped to the forefront of her mind. Felicity squeezed her eyes shut. "That…that was a one time thing."

"Mhm." He kissed her calf again. "No one will see, Felicity. Come in. The water's fine."

Felicity opened her eyes. Oliver was gazing up at her, his eyes an impossible blue ocean behind inky lashes. "Has anyone ever told you that you're a very devious man?"

Oliver grinned. "I've been called worse." He tugged on her hand. "Come here." Felicity gave in. Crouching down, she took his face in her hands and kissed him. It was strange; every time they kissed the world seemed to pull into focus around her. The sun hot on her back, Oliver's stubble rough beneath her fingers, the sharp smell of his sunscreen— all of it thrown into sharp relief. Felicity let herself melt into the kiss. Oliver tasted like sunscreen and the vanilla chapstick he kept stealing from her purse. He tasted like happiness. He made her feel alive.

After a minute she pulled away and whispered, "If I'm going to skinny dip it's not going to be in a pool."

Oliver's eyebrows shot up. "Oh?"

Felicity stood up and began to walk away.

"Where are you going?" Oliver called after her. Felicity threw him a glance over her shoulder. "To the beach. Are you coming?"

It took him five seconds: he leapt out of the pool, grabbed her by the waist, and threw her over his shoulder. "Oliver!" Felicity gasped. Her sudden peal of laughter was caught by a gust of wind and carried up, up, up to the cloudless sky above.

"I really hope that was a rhetorical question," he said, and he slapped her on the backside.

Some distance away Mrs. Albert Murray-Jones of Chiswick just outside London, let out a little shriek and nearly dropped her binoculars. "Albert! Albert, come here!"

Her husband set down his margarita— not a drink he would have ordered back home, mind you, but here…well, who would know?— and joined his wife at the balcony. "What is it?" he said. "Surely there's no need to scream."

His wife handed him the binoculars and pointed down the beach at something invisible to the naked eye. "I was looking for dolphins and I saw…well, just look…and in plain view of the other bungalows!"

Albert lifted the binoculars to his eyes and almost immediately dropped them again. Far down the beach two young people were frolicking in the turquoise waves; they seemed to have lost their swimming attire. He handed his wife back the binoculars. "I don't know if it counts as 'in plain view' if you have to use binoculars to see them, dear."

His wife ignored this. "Young people these day," she said, pressing the binoculars back to her eyes. "No shame. If their mothers could see them…"

"You could stop looking," Albert pointed out.

His wife waved this away. "That's really not the point, is it! I mean, I never… we really should report them." She was leaning so far over the balcony that any second now she was going to tip over and fall to the sand below. Thankfully, it was a short drop.

"Whatever you like, dear." Albert frowned at the dregs of his margarita. He'd told himself he'd only have the one but something about that young couple's display had awoken a sense of rebelliousness in him that he hadn't felt since his Oxford days. To hell with it. He was going to get another margarita and there was nothing anyone could say about it. "Extra salt this time." He giggled. "And two umbrellas!" All of sudden he felt positively giddy. It was a beautiful day, he didn't have to go back to dreary London for another three days…the world was full of endless possibility.

From very far away he thought he could hear the couple laughing.


	22. Like Riding a Bike

One grey skied morning in early September Oliver came home from the market to find Felicity standing at the kitchen window in her pajamas. Oliver set the groceries on the counter and walked over to her, wrapping his arms around her waist. "I missed you," he murmured. He turned his face into the curve of her neck, savoring the warmth of her sleepy body.

He could hear the smile in her voice as she leaned back into him. "You were only gone forty-five minutes."

Oliver pressed a kiss to her neck. "Exactly." His eyes followed hers to the street beyond the window. A little boy in a red jacket was zooming up and down the pavement on a flame painted bicycle. "Robbie's doing pretty good without the training wheels."

"Oliver," Felicity said suddenly. She turned in his arms, her hands settling on his chest as she gazed up at him. "Do you know how to ride a bike?" Oliver didn't think he'd ever get tired of seeing her like this: hair still mussed from bed, cheeks pale, edges softened by the morning light.

He tucked a stray lock of blond hair behind her ear. "Of course. Doesn't everyone?"

"I don't."

Oliver's eyebrows shot up. "You don't?"

Felicity looked slightly miffed. "There aren't really any bike paths in downtown Vegas. And we never had the money for one anyway."

The memory took him by surprise: him and Tommy at nine, flying down the grounds behind the Queen manor on their eight speed mountain bikes. Raisa yelled from the balcony not to trample the roses but her voice faded away as they sped further and further from the house, green grass rushing beneath their wheels, the sky a cornflower blue dome above– It was one of Oliver's favorite memories. "I'll teach you," he blurted.

Felicity raised an eyebrow. "You're going to teach me to ride a bike?"

"Why not?"

Felicity plucked at the front of his shirt. "Well…have you ever taught someone before?"

"No. But it'll be fine. Better than fine. It'll be great. Don't you want to learn?"

Felicity bit her lip as glanced back to the window just as Robbie sped by again, his little legs pumping furiously at the pedals. "Okay," she said. "Let's do it."

Oliver's face broke into a smile. "Yeah?"

Felicity laughed. "Yeah." She rose up on her toes to wind her arms around his neck. "Don't make me regret this."

Oliver grinned against her lips. "You know this means you have to call me sensei."

Felicity shook her head and kissed him again. "Mm, yeah, that's not happening."

"Master and padawan?"

"Keep dreaming, Queen."

"Look, we finally have an excuse to act out the Obi-Wan fantasy of yours."

Felicity jerked away from him, her jaw on the floor. "How do you know about that?"

Oliver shrugged. "You talk in your sleep."

Felicity's cheeks were the color of a tomato. "Oh my god." She covered her face in her hands. "No, no, no, no, no."

"So we'll go with sensei then?"


	23. Like Riding a Bike Part II

They bought her a dark purple bike and and a bright pink helmet. After they put the bike in the car Oliver said "wait here" and disappeared back into the store. A minute later he returned with a small bag.

Felicity tried to catch a peek as Oliver slid into the driver's seat. "What's that?"

"A surprise," Oliver said, shooing her away with his hand. "Now put your seatbelt on."

Felicity clucked her tongue. "So bossy today." But she did as he said.

The sun was high in the sky by the time they pulled back into their driveway. Towering white clouds sallied across the cornflower blue firmament, trees rustling softly in the breeze. The sunshine was warm on their backs as Oliver and Felicity rolled the new bike down to the end of the quiet cul-de-sac. Oliver handed her the bag from the store.

Felicity pulled out the elbow pads he'd bought her. She rolled her eyes. "Really, Oliver? How breakable do you think I am?"

Oliver grinned. "Your elbows are very precious to me."

Felicity huffed a laugh and shook her head. "Fine. If my elbows mean that much to you I'll wear them." She put on the pads and her new helmet and Oliver handed her the bike's handlebars.

Felicity slung her leg over the seat and paused to adjust her helmet's chin strap. "It's good thing I didn't have any dignity before we decided to do this."

"You look great," Oliver assured her.

Felicity stopped fiddling the chin strap to pin him with a look that said don't lie to me, Queen.

"Responsible," Oliver amended. "You look very responsible."

Felicity dropped her hands to the handlebars. "I'm the envy of every kid who ever had to live in a medical bubble. Alright, oh wise one, bestow me with your knowledge. How do I ride this thing?"

"Um." Oliver faltered. He tried to remember what Robert had told him and Tommy the day he taught them to ride. It was so long ago. Oliver remembered the warm weight of his father's hands covering his on the handlebars. Robert's hands had dwarfed Oliver's. Most people's parents loomed less as their children grew older but not Robert Queen. Even in death he seemed to expand, taking up more of Oliver's thoughts with each passing year.

"Oliver?" Felicity said.

"Sorry." Oliver snapped back into himself. He scratched the back of his head thoughtfully. "How about I just push you around the circle a bit so you can get used to how it feels?"

Felicity tugged her bottom lip between her teeth; a nervous habit. "Okay."

"There's nothing to be scared of Felicity. You're going to do great."

She sighed. "It's kind of pathetic. I can take bullet for someone and fly a supersuit but I'm scared to ride a bike. Definitely pathetic."

Oliver caught her under the chin with his finger. "You, Felicity Smoak, are the least pathetic person I've ever met. And the bravest."

Felicity gave him a wobbly smile. "Right. Let's do this."

"Honey, you have to take your feet of the ground," Oliver said.

Felicity flushed. "Oh. Right." She placed her feet on the pedals. Voice slightly edged in panic she said, "You better not drop me, Queen."

"Never."

Oliver led her around the cul-de-sac a few times while Felicity pedaled slowly. Then he said, "Want to try without me?"

"Okay," Felicity said in a small voice.

"I'll get you going then just try to glide a little bit, okay? Don't pedal just see if you can stay balanced for a few seconds."

Felicity nodded, the tip of her tongue stuck out in concentration. Her pink helmet matched her lipstick. That combined with the elbow pads...she was the most adorable thing he'd every seen. Oliver tucked his smile away for later. "Ready?"

Felicity nodded again. Oliver walked beside her for a moment, one hand on the handlebars, one on the back of her seat. Then he gave her a gentle push and let go. Immediately she started to wobble. "Oh no. Ohhh no."

"Pedal," Oliver called after her. "Find your center."

"Frack!" Felicity slammed the brakes and plowed her feet into the ground. She looked back at Oliver guiltily. "I was going to fall."

"It's okay. Let's try again."

The same thing happened twice more. On their fourth try Oliver let go and Felicity barely wobbled. She pedaled a few times and the bike stayed upright, gliding alone the pavement. Felicity whooped. "I'm doing it!" She bent her neck to look at Oliver over her shoulder, a thousand watt smile plastered on her face. "Oliver, I'm doing it!"

He saw the danger before she did. "Felicity, look where you're going!"

"Huh—?"

Too late. She careened over the slight curb, crashed into the unsuspecting shrub, and collapsed into a pile of limbs and leaves and spinning wheels. Oliver jogged over to her. "Are you okay?"

Felicity detangled herself with the bike's frame and sat up. "Yeah." Her helmet sat askew on her head. She spat out a leaf. "Ms. Grzywna's shrub kind of cushioned the fall." She patted the branch closest to her. "Sorry, shrub."

Oliver grinned. "But you did it, Felicity. You were riding."

Felicity beamed. "I did, didn't I? Go me."

Oliver held out a hand. Felicity took it and he pulled her to her feet. "You're my best pupil by far."

"I'm your only pupil." Felicity unbuckled her helmet and shook out her hair. The sun bounced off it like spun gold. A small twig had lodged itself behind her ear like an artist's pencil. Oliver plucked it out.

Felicity pressed herself up against him, hooking her thumbs through Oliver's belt loops. The tops of her breasts brushed against his chest through her thin t-shirt and a little thrill skittered up his spine. Felicity made Oliver feel like middle school kid all over again. Every time they kissed it was like his first kiss on steroids: all the excitement and none of the awkwardness or braces.

Like she could tell what he was thinking, Felicity pressed herself even closer. Rising up on her tippy toes, she nuzzled her nose against his. "Who knew you were such a good teacher," she said, stealing a kiss.

"I'm hurt you had so little faith in me."

She chuckled against his lips. "I'm sorry. Can you ever forgive me?"

"I'll consider it." Oliver stole the kiss back. Felicity tasted like sunshine and the vanilla chapstick he kept stealing from her purse. Perfect. "So how are we going to celebrate this very major life accomplishment? We could ride down to that new ice cream place you wanted to try…"

"Actually," Felicity interrupted, "I had something else in mind."

Oliver quirked an eyebrow. "Oh?"

"Mhm. About that Obi-Wan fantasy…" Felicity glanced up at him from beneath her lashes. She bit down on her bottom lip and Oliver felt fairly certain that this time the action wasn't prompted by nerves. "You've just been such a good teacher."

The smile spread slowly across his lips. "Get your bike, padawan. We're going home."


	24. Home (olicity wedding fic)

In the end they get married in Bali with only a few of their closest friends and family in attendance. Donna is there with Captain Lance on her arm. Lyla and Dig. Sara is the flower girl. Roy and Thea are there though not together, which they keep reminding everyone. And yet when the officiate waxes on about the enduringness of love it's impossible to miss the way their eyes seek each other out and then keep falling back to each other for the rest of the ceremony.

The wedding is scheduled for sunset and Bali gifts them with the perfect evening. It's hot but not oppressive, a soft breeze rustling the white chiffon draped over the chuppah. Seagulls wheel overhead and turquoise water laps quietly at the sand. The sky melts into a swirl of pinks, fiery oranges and dusty purples just as the officiant reaches the main event.

"Do you, Felicity Megan Smoak, take Oliver Jonas Queen to be your lawfully wedded husband, with all his faults and strengths, as you offer yourself to him with all your faults and strengths? Will you help him when he needs help, and turn to him when you need help? Do choose him as the person with whom you will spend your life?"

Felicity's nodding before he even finishes. "Yes. I do. Yes. I do, yes."

The small crowd chuckles softly and but Felicity doesn't care; she's positively giddy, a thousand butterflies fluttering their wings just beneath the surface of her skin. There have been lies between her and Oliver before, betrayals of trust, overreactions and insecurities that caused them to fall apart when they should have been falling together. There was a time when she gave up on this ever happening, gave up on them altogether. That's how she knows that this time they're ready. Sickness and health, richer or poorer; they've been through all of that already. Anything bad that comes there way, she knows they can take it, they can kick its ass, just as long as they're together.

The officiant turns to Oliver and presents him with the same question.

Oliver's eyes crinkle at the edges. He has crows' feet now like an old man. He is old, in experience if not in age. He's tired often. Carrying the world on one's shoulders is a wearying responsibility for even the strongest of men. The only thing that eases it is Felicity standing at his side, sharing the burden. Plus, he can only sleep when she's lying next to him so just for practical reasons he has to marry her. And then, of course, there's the small fact that he's blindingly, can't-see-straight-when-I'm-without-you, heed over heels in love with the woman.

Really, it's the easiest question anyone's ever asked him.

"I do," he says.

The smile that crashes across Felicity's face is blinding.

The officiant pronounces them husband and wife and Oliver may now kiss his bride.

So he does. And he does. And then he does some more.

Their friends cheer and toss flower petals to the wind. When Oliver finally pulls away both he and Felicity are grinning so hard their faces may split in two. The setting sun gilds Felicity's edges in pale golden light, she's glowing, and it's a little bit funny because this is how she's always looked in Oliver's head: like a warm light beckoning him home.

It nearly bowls him over, the realization that finally he is.


End file.
